


Everything Under the Sun

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Alternate Universe- GTA V, Gen, Supernatural Elements, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 09:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20061925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: Ryan does odd jobs for Gavin every so often. He’ll get texts with nothing more than an address and be expected to know what to do from there.





	Everything Under the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Because reasons.

Ryan does odd jobs for Gavin every so often. He’ll get texts with nothing more than an address and be expected to know what to do from there.

Anyone else, and he could ignore those texts. Pretend he missed them while out and about on other jobs. Paying jobs, mind you, because Ryan needs to pay his bills, buy groceries, a million other little things, but he never does. (Anymore, at least.)

Ryan’s learned if something has managed to catch and hold Gavin’s interest, it’s important.

“Got a new job from Gavin,” Ryan says, glances over to where his roommate is curled up the couch. “You interested?”

The wolf lifts its head, lips curling up over its fangs.

Ryan doesn’t know why the damn thing chooses to live with him rather than stay with Gavin at that ridiculously large estate of his, but here they are.

Although to be fair, Gavin _is_ trouble. Lives and breathes it like no one else Ryan knows and people in his orbit get caught up in it like breathing. 

Hell, try to keep your distance the way Ryan did at first and you find yourself in trouble before you know it, and by the time you realize why you’re already past the point of no return. (It’s too late for Ryan, but maybe the wolf still has a chance.)

Ryan cocks his head, raises an eyebrow because the wolf is smarter than this, than him. Knows better than to blindly go along with whatever Gavin wants, and yet - 

The wolf growls at him, annoyed that Ryan’s second-guessing it and Ryan doesn’t laugh, no. (That’s never a bright idea, because _wolf_, but he grins to himself because they’re both idiots, aren’t they.)

Ryan gets up to collect his wallet, keys. The jacket he tossed somewhere after a rough night. 

Behind him Ryan hears the wolf hop off the couch, the click of nails on hardwood floors as it trails after him to the modest armory to decide what weapons to bring along.

A gun, because Los Santos is home to all sorts, supernatural and the more mundane. Throwing knives for that extra flair, non-throwing knife just in case, and okay, another gun because why not, and Ryan has so many. (He makes light of it as he selects each one, but the sobering truth is there’s a lingering ache in his ribs from the last time he did a favor for Gavin, and there’s no such thing as overkill in this city.)

“What do you think?” Ryan asks, checking to make sure his weapons aren’t noticeable.

Well, certain ones, at any rate. 

The Vagabond has a reputation to uphold and people get uneasy when they _can’t_ spot weapons on him. 

The wolf snorts, unimpressed as always, and trots off towards the door. Not eager to get to get to business so much as annoyed at being handed another mysterious job from Gavin.

“Hey, thanks!” Ryan calls after it, and grabs another knife before he locks the armory up, just for luck.

========

Ryan’s human. (Mostly.)

Meets the main criteria at any rate.

He’s soft and squishy, bleeds red. Has breath in his lungs and a heartbeat in his chest, but things get a little weird on him after that.

Humans aren’t the only beings that are soft and squishy, it just depends on how you define ‘soft and squishy’, and the same goes for bleeding red. (Something, something, science, look it up.)

The whole breathing thing is fairly common, and again, science things. Most things that breathe have hearts and therefore heartbeats (science?), but that’s also where things get tricky.

Because that heartbeat of Ryan’s? 

It echoes the one he can feel under his feet sometimes, strong and steady and goddamned _old_. 

Sunk deep in the earth beneath the streets of Los Santos and it never falters even under the worst circumstances. Ryan likes to use it to ground himself when things get weird(er), and is aware that being able to feel a city’s heartbeat is one of those Weird Things. (He’s a hypocrite, live with it.)

There’s nothing special about Ryan, except for the things that are. 

Might seem strange, given the amount of people, beings, he’s run into who hiss and make warding signs at him when their paths cross. The ones who tell him death follows him as though he has no idea. As though he doesn’t visit it on the deserving every chance he gets, but that’s life for you.

Somewhere along the way he started painting a skull on his face and wearing a mask to match because death is in his blood, no matter how many generations back it goes. (His sense of humor has always been dark.)

Ryan’s human (mostly), but he fits in with the monsters and worse that have taken refuge in Los Santos far better than anywhere else he’s been, and that suits him just fine.

========

Gavin’s text takes them to an old warehouse by the docks, because of course it does.

Seedy looking place that has the wolf growling the moment it jumps out of the car. Amber eyes finding Ryan’s as it scents the air, ears going back.

“Yeah,” Ryan says, sinking feeling in his gut because for all that Gavin likes to play coy about things, he’s a predictable bastard. “I know, buddy. I know.”

Ryan _knows_ sometimes, what a place is even before he sees the evidence for himself. Gets a feel for it, negative energy sunk into its foundation over time. (He doesn’t like to call it an aura, because that pulls out the skeptical looks like nothing else, but it is what it is.)

It’s all part of the same thing that lets him feel a city’s heartbeat, and the occasional head’s up about a situation before shit goes wrong on him. (Again, he doesn’t like to call it intuition or a premonition because for all that Los Santos is full of the otherworldly some things still get a sideways look, have people wondering if you’re just good at faking like you belong here.)

Then again, it could be the way people just do things without realizing it. Copying what they’ve seen work elsewhere, piggybacking on someone else’s trial and error and hard work because why fix it if it isn’t broken? Unconscious choice perhaps, but he’s seen it enough to recognize the patterns people fall into.

And this place - 

Ryan’s seen others like it before. All over Los Santos, other cities and places he’s been.

Varies from place to place, city to city. Whatever people think they can get away with. From throwing animals or people into the ring to fight for the audience’s entertainment to here where some people are both depending on the cycle of the moon and so on.

The best ones police themselves, when it comes down to it. Operate by a set of rules governed by morals, but those are few and far between here in Los Santos.

Result in things like the wolf at his side, scarred up and fucked up, a lot of anger to it still.

Place like this, there are no rules, which means you get people, beings, trapped by some contract or other. (Worse, most of the time, and only one way out for them.)

Assholes who run places like this love going after the lost and the hopeless, and too often that means people with a little magic in their blood. Offer them food in their bellies and a roof over their head. Have them sign a contract and never mind the fine print, they’ll go over it later, promise. (They fight harder, heal faster. Draw in the crowds when the assholes running the place pitch the fights as wild, exotic, and rake in the rewards.)

Wrap collars and chains around their necks and lock them into a life of pain and suffering, just so rich assholes get a taste of something exciting without having to sacrifice anything on their end.

The wolf snarls, raw, angry, and Ryan’s gut twists when it ends in a low whine almost too soft to hear.

“You can stay with the car,” Ryan offers, even though he knows the wolf won’t go for it. “God knows I don’t like leaving it out here.”

It’s a pretty little thing, gift from Gavin way back when for services rendered dealing with a little problem of his. All kinds of magics woven into it over the years from Gavin and the Twins.

Protective wards. Things meant to keep him as safe as he can be in a city like this, but Gavin’s a menace and the Twins are almost as bad as he is and toss in little oddities here and there to keep things interesting. (He’d rather they didn’t because their definition of ‘interesting’ differs from his, but again, _menaces_.)

Ryan’s gotten attached to it, grown fond, and it responds in kind. Stubborn thing, metal warm under his hand even on the coldest days Los Santos has to offer. (Low purr of its engine in the back of his head that’s friendly and affectionate, got this little curl of a smile from Gavin the first time Ryan asked about it, so Ryan figures it can’t be a bad thing.)

The wolf cocks its head, eyes narrowing, and then huffs, Shows off its fangs with a little snarl and trots on ahead of Ryan. Stops a few feet away and looks back as if its wondering why the hell Ryan’s just lollygagging about like that when there’s work to be done. (Gavin never sends them out without a reason.)

“Okay, okay,” Ryan mutters, and hurries to catch up.

========

The wolf sticks close to Ryan one they get inside, head up, ears flicking back and forth as it pads over to watch a kid in the ring.

Short guy, wild grin on his face and manic energy to him. He’s up against someone twice his size with this gray-green tinge to his skin that hints at orc or ogre blood in the family tree somewhere, but the kid doesn’t seem intimidated in the least. 

Just grins wider as he pushes himself back to his feet with a taunt ready to go, never mind the nasty hit he just took. (There’s a chain around the kid’s neck, shines silver under the light and angry red marks under that goes a long way to explain what someone like him is doing in a place like this.)

The wolf growls, and Ryan glances down when it presses against his leg, feels the anger running through it to cover the fear and dread.

“Yeah,” Ryan says again, answering anger in his chest because he knows why Gavin sent them here. “What do you say we pay the asshole running this place a visit, huh?”

Ryan’s made more of a name for himself since the wolf came along than he ever did when it was just him and his mask roaming the streets of Los Santos.

People in Los Santos know Ryan works for Gavin from time to time, knows the wolf’s part and parcel of that. Know goddamn well the kind of trouble to expect whenever the two of them darken their doorstep.

Ryan catches the eye of the bruiser running security. Gives him this little look, and the guy pushes off from the wall he’s leaning against to take them to his boss. 

Stops just outside a door and puts a hand on Ryan’s chest and looks pointedly at the wolf.

The wolf snaps its teeth at him and gives him a warning growl.

“Trust me,” Ryan says, showing some teeth himself. “The wolf won’t be the problem here.”

You’d think it would be, wouldn’t you. Big bastard, all scarred up from past fights and this glint in its eyes like it’s just waiting for the right moment to rip your throat out, but you’d be wrong.

The guy looks Ryan over, mouth turning down as he thinks better of challenging the two of them.

The wolf dismisses the guy with a flick of its ears, gives Ryan this look like he doesn’t know why they’re wasting their precious time like this.

“We’ve got it from here,” Ryan says, and gives a perfunctory knock on the door before pushing it open.

There’s another goon inside. 

Bigger, dumber than the one who escorted Ryan and the wolf up here and he’s sporting a shiny little gun in a fancy holster.

Not shy about it, and Ryan watches as the guy goes for it before a curt order from his boss stops him.

Ryan recognizes the voice, knows who it is before he looks over to see a mousy little man in a bad suit. Balding already even though he can’t be a day over thirty and this scar on his cheek from a past encounter.

“Corbin,” Ryan says. “Why am I not surprised to see you here?”

Corbin’s a slippery bastard, has a lot of powerful friends around the city and isn’t shy about calling on them for help when he lands himself in trouble. Earns his keep by overseeing the business side of things for his buddies, makes sure they earn profits from other people’s suffering.

Doesn’t like to get his hands dirty when he can delegate, and clever about it.

It wasn’t that long ago when Ryan let him live to deliver a message to his bosses. Another ring like this one up north, small dirty thing in an old barn and just pulling in enough money to keep the place running.

“Vagabond,” he says, eyes flicking to the wolf beside Ryan. “And his stray.”

The wolf growls, low in its chest. A warning, watch your mouth ad no mystery what happens if he doesn’t. 

Ryan and Corbin have a little stare-down, the wolf watching silently. Doesn’t know that Ryan and Corbin have history, used to work for the same people way back when. (Both of them younger and stupider and Ryan new enough to the city to think Corbin was someone he could trust.)

Ryan cocks his head and Corbin sighs.

Knows if Ryan and the wolf are here there’s a reason for it. (And the reason’s name is Gavin.)

“One of these days, Vagabond,” Corbin says, leaning forward in his seat. Ready to make a deal because his current boss knew Ryan would come sniffing around because Ryan’s gotten predictable about these kinds of things. “One of these days my clients won’t back down.”

Oh, Ryan knows.

Most of Corbin’s clients are idiots, but they’re smart enough to know when to pick their battles.

Places like this aren’t worth losing their people over. (They bring in money, sure, but not as much as their other operations. Figure throwing the likes of Ryan a bone like this will tide him over.)

The wolf snarls, out of the loop when it comes to Ryan and Corbin and this little dance they’ve been doing for years now because Corbin is a goddamned cockroach.

Corbin glances at the wolf, mouth pulling into a pained grimace.

“What do you and your...friend want?” he asks, impatience beating out his usual arrogance and smugness.

Ryan glances past Corbin at the window overlooking the ring where the kid’s picking himself up again. Mouth moving as he goes for what Ryan can only assume is another taunt as he wipes blood off his chin, cocky grin and so goddamned stupid it hurts.

He thinks about Corbin’s question for a moment, like there’s anything _to_ think about.

Not with Gavin’s text and the idiot kid in the ring. What he and the wolf have seen of this place so far. The fact Corbin’s even here.

As much as Ryan would love to burn this place to the ground on principle, he doesn’t want to kick off a war. (Bloody, messy, and too much risk of pulling bystanders into it.)

They have Gavin’s backing on this, but they’re still vulnerable as these things go. Can only push so hard until something gives, and Ryan’s learned to be smart about these things. 

“Well, since you ask so nicely,” Ryan says, nods toward the ring where the kid’s dancing around his opponent, laughing like an idiot as he goads him into attacking. “His contract would be a good place to start.”

========

Corbin sends two of his lackeys with Ryan and the wolf when they go to get the kid. Escorts them to the locker rooms so they don’t get lost along the way. 

When they step into the locker room where the kid’s been sent, another one of Corbin's lackeys is threatening the kid. 

They’re too far away for Ryan to make out what’s being said, but the wolf does. (Or maybe it’s the sight of the burly guy with the knife in his hand with the kid backed into a corner that sets the wolf off, Ryan doesn’t need an explanation in a place like this.)

The wolf’s moving before Ryan can get a word out. Deep-throated growl that shifts into a more human sounding snarl of rage that echoes against the walls as he darts past Ryan. Clawed hand brushing against Ryan’s side and lackey’s startled cry as the wolf pins the lackey to the wall, one of Ryan’s guns pressed under his chin and the room goes silent.

Takes a few seconds for it to happen, human reflexes too damn slow by far to keep up and the wolf grins, vicious little thing with his teeth on display. 

Ryan glances at the lackeys who escorted them down here. Hands on their guns and spooked as hell, but smart enough not to draw down on the wolf. (Yet.)

The kid’s staring, wide eyes and open-mouthed. His hands make this aborted motion like he wants to reach out to the wolf but isn’t sure he should, that he’s _allowed_, and shrinks in on himself. (Darts Ryan this look from the corner of his eye.)

Ryan steps forward, moves into the wolf’s peripheral.

“Michael,” Ryan says, low, quiet.

Never an order with him, because bullheaded as he is Michael won’t listen. 

Will snap and snarl and bite the hand that feeds just to prove he can, that the collar someone wrapped around his throat all that time ago thinking they could control him isn’t there anymore.

“Uh,” the kid says, shooting Ryan a nervous look when Ryan waits for Michael to decide how this plays out. “Hey, pal. I appreciate the gesture, but you’d just be making so much work fr the cleaning crew, you know? All that blood, and let’s not even get into him pissing himself...”

It works. The meandering babbling coming out of the kid’s mouth Ryan wasn’t going to mention it, but the kid’s right. The lackey’s terrified, and rightfully so, because Michael's been in places like this before. Wore a collar around his neck like the one the kid’s sporting and treated like nothing more than a rabid animal.

He has no tolerance for people like these, but where he’d ignore Ryan he’s listening to the kid. Head cocked, grip on the lackey easing up enough for the idiot to pull in a full breath instead of the wheezing gasps Michael allowed him.

Ryan watches the kid as he talks Michael down, voice pitched low, soothing, as he inches closer to him. Reaches out to rest a hand on his shoulder, simple touch not meant to hurt. (To ground Michael.)

“C’mon, buddy,” the kid says, light tone because hey everything’s fine here, no need to kill this moron. “Guy’s not worth it.”

The kid says it like he means it, but the look on his face says differently. 

Michael has to know, smell it on him, but the kid’s still working on talking him down because he’s smart enough to know the odds aren’t great for them.

Even with Gavin’s backing, they won’t make it a step past the locker room before Corbin’s people cut them down. (Pride’s a bitch like that, will make people fight a war neither side will call a victory when the dust settles.)

“Next time,” Ryan says, shows his own teeth when the other lackeys jerk towards him like they’d forgotten about him.

He gets it, he does.

Ryan’s human (mostly), and they’ve been trained to focus on the more immediate threat of a shifter like Michael, the kid. All the other poor bastards they push into the ring night after night for the sake of entertainment.

They forget, though, that Ryan’s got a reputation of his own that Gavin has nothing to do with. One that gets overlooked in a city like Los Santos with all the things that go bump in the dark.

Forget what they’re capable of themselves, all kinds of atrocities humans think up on their own in broad daylight and see no problem with.

Michael snarls, shoves the lackey into the wall hard enough for his head to bounce against the tile and lets the asshole go. Flashes Ryan an indecipherable look before he tosses his gun to him and stalks off.

Ryan lets him go – couldn’t stop him even if he wanted – and looks at the kid.

“Grab your stuff,” he says, and shows his teeth when the lackeys look like they have something to say to that after Michael’s show. “We’ve got places to be.”

========

Gavin’s estate is in the hills above Los Santos. Large sprawling thing that backs up into a wooded area. Goes on for a significant distance, kind of real estate developers drool over but no one comes knocking on Gavin’s door hoping to make a deal.

“What the fuck is that?”

First thing the kid’s said on the drive out here.

Scrunched up looking as small and harmless looking in the back of Ryan’s car as he can while Michael scowled out his window, wind ruffling his fur. (There’s a reason Michael prefers his four-footed form these days, and Ryan just goes along with it because that’s none of his business.)

“It’s a dragon,” Ryan says, shadow falling over his car as they make their way up the winding driveway to the ridiculously huge house Gavin lives in. “Never seen one before?”

Broad-winged bastard from across the ocean, young for his kind, maybe, but still damn impressive.

Reckless, to have settled so close to humans. Fond of them in ways he shouldn’t be and breaking dragon etiquette all over the place. (To hear him tell it is why he picked America, found his way to Los Santos.)

He’s waiting by the house (mansion, really) when they pull up to it, two small specks of black on either shoulder in Trevor and Alfredo. 

Ryan’s not sure if it’s luck or sheer coincidence they got here just as the three of them finished a flight, or if it’s something Gavin planned. (Likes to play these little games, Gavin does.)

“Uh….” the kid says, like he’s wondering if he’s any better off with his new situation or not. “What the fuck?”

Dragons are rare enough these days, all the old stories about them stealing princesses away and the knights tasked with killing them to save said princesses. Magical healing properties of their horns, their scales. Blood and talons and God knows what else and no reason they went into hiding so long ago.

Gavin took a risk making his presence known in Los Santos, but he has powerful allies in the city and beyond. The kind that make even the most ruthless here in Los Santos think twice.)

He’s a broker of sorts, has the Twin gather information for him and a network of contacts all over the city. Made himself indispensable, _useful_, enough that people don’t think to ask why he came to Los Santos to begin with. Why he’s set up shop overlooking the city, who sent him.

Michael snarls, pawing at the door handles to get his door open. It takes him a few tries, but Ryan knows better than to offer to help him, and he and the kid watch as Michael jumps out of the car to run up to Gavin.

Big bastard who towers over them, and there Michael is snapping and snarling at him while Gavin laughs at him, little hissing noises and small fluttering motions with his wings. Tip of his tail flicking like a cat’s.

The sight used to be cause for concern for Ryan, used to make him feel uneasy because dragons are...they’re on another level to most beings Ryan’s met over the years. Clever assholes with schemes and agendas all their own. 

Ryan bites back a laugh when the kid mutters something that sounds a hell of a lot like _what the fuck is my life?_

========

“You know,” Ryan says, can of diet soda in hand and this mild sense of bewilderment at why the hell he keeps working for an asshole like Gavin. “You could have just told us.”

Would have been nice to know what he and Michael would be walking into, just this once. 

Gavin _hmms_, gleam in his eye and this little curl to his mouth.

Back in his human form, shiny bits of gold and jewels, because it’s Gavin. (There’s the whole thing where he’s a dragon and it’s expected, but mostly it’s just..._Gavin_.)

“Where’s the fun in that, Ryan?” he asks, turning back to watch the wolves chasing each other, Trevor and Alfredo heckling them from the safety of the trees.

The kid – Jeremy – was on his best behavior, like he thought they’d throw him back into the ring if he stepped out of line, and Michael wasn’t having it. (Not when he knew why the kid is so skittish about that.)

Stood by while introductions were made and Gavin extended his usual offer to Jeremy. (Always sounds too good to be true, which is why Ryan keeps getting new roommates out things like they think he’s a safer bet than Gavin.)

The moment Gavin was done talking, Michael bullied Jeremy (gently) into shifting. He was nervous, awkward about it, like he wasn’t used to it. 

Clumsy on four legs and stumbling after Michael at first, gaining confidence when Michael nudged him along until he got him to _play_. Chase him through the wooded area, a higher level of tag for a pair of werewolves like them. Tumbling him whenever he caught up to him, play-fighting and _safe_. 

Ryan takes a sip of his drink, because he’s had this talk with Gavin before. 

Gone round and round about it and Gavin either playing dumb or having no damn clue what Ryan’s talking about when he tells him Gavin is an asshole about things. (Michael’s tried the same, and gotten just as far as Ryan has, which is nowhere.)

“You and I have different definitions of what ‘fun’ means,” Ryan says.

Gavin laughs, and is absolutely not being a smug bastard about things.

New member for this odd pack he’s been building out here and this smirk whenever Ryan asks him about it. (Says things like _”it’s a secret”_, and _”just you wait”_, and _”oh, Ryan, it will be so much fun once everyone’s here.”_)

It should worry Ryan more than it does, but for whatever reason he trusts Gavin. (Possible mistake, but Ryan likes to think he’s a decent judge of character.)

“Yes, well,” Gavin says, and shrugs as though that’s any kind of answer. “You’re still here aren’t you?”

Ryan doesn’t know if Gavin means Los Santos in general or the estate, but he does have a point.

“Maybe I’m just biding my time,” Ryan points out, because like hell will he let Gavin be right about everything. 

========

“He’s an asshole,” Michael says later, back on two feet and watching Gavin and the Twins talking to Jeremy about something or other while Jeremy listens. Takes in everything he say far too seriously because he doesn't know Gavin yet, doesn’t know he’s a little shit about things. (He’ll learn soon enough if he decides to stick around.)

Ryan doesn’t know who Michael’s talking about, but either way he’s not wrong.

“Yeah, well,” Ryan shrugs. “Never would have guessed.”

Shocking, really.

Michael snorts, gaze sliding towards him.

He always seems amused by Ryan and everything he chooses to be, which should be more insulting than it is, and yet?

“No offense,” Michael says. “But you’re the worst loner I’ve ever met.”

Ryan sighs, the bullshit he’d spewed when he and Michael met coming back to bite him in the ass.

“Look,” Ryan says. “Using my own words against me is a terrible thing to do.”

Ryan was a different person back then, sharper edges and more of an asshole than he’s comfortable admitting. Used to the way the world, this city, likes to fuck people over and expecting much the same from Gavin and whatever schemes he had up his sleeve. (Michael.)

Believed the bullshit coming out of his mouth because it had worked for him up to that point, and he hadn’t expected that to change.

Michael makes this little noise of agreement, mouth quirking into this almost-smirk.

“Yeah, well,” he says, mimicking Ryan because he loves giving him shit. “Deal with it, you’re stuck with us now.”

Funny, Ryan thought it would have taken Michael longer to come to terms with this new arrangement.

Ryan looks over when Jeremy’s voice rises in disbelief, expression on his face like he cant fathom how stupid Gavin is while Gavin’s laughing like an idiot. The Twins grinning like a pair of demented Cheshire Cats and none of it seems strange to Ryan in the least. 

“Yeah,” Ryan says, that little itch he gets when it’s time to get the hell out nowhere to be found. “Guess I am.”


End file.
